


Don't let go of my hand

by KaneNogami



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/pseuds/KaneNogami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hase does not get the time to eat the fruit. Instead, a powerful blow takes him down. To protect his life. And yet causing much damage in the process. He gets a couple of visitors but there is only one he is interested in. Despite the fact he can't wake up to reply to his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't let go of my hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cestlavieminako](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestlavieminako/gifts).



One, two.  
A repetition. Something which keeps happening. It's a sound, a loud one who is somehow like a song but without being one. A melody would have more than this 'one, two' thing which might never stop. It's infuriating, as if it has a purpose but he can't grasp it. The machine slows down sometimes. When there is too much doubt and his thoughts get heavier. Faster is a less usual occurrence. Each time, it allows voices to come into his mind and to mess everything up. People who are unable to stop screaming and to touch him. Although he is unsure it's what they are doing. He can't feel it, while being convinced it happens. It's exhausting. Why can't he open his eyes? Perhaps because it would be even more tiresome if he did that? Fighting is neither right or wrong. It's a choice he is not even allowed to make completely.

His hand gets warmer sometimes. Not that much. Touch will help him to heal, this sentence is said so many times he ends up forgetting its meaning. Most of the ones who come to visit do not press their fingers against his skin though. They wish to, probably. However, at the last moment, they withdraw their hands, refusing to attempt at deepening his injuries. Some days, he thinks he is able to remember, to put the pieces back together. Do not take a gun to a knife fight. It's something his mother used to tell him. He is unsure of what she meant in the end. Or why he is using the past tense to explain this memory. Perhaps everything is a dream and he never approached his lips from that fruit. Ah, he didn't take such a dangerous weapon to a fight. Since he had no attention to go against them in the first place. Why was he there then? To save himself from his misfortune? When he focuses too much on that, on this reality which only exists for him, the sound loses its beat. It gets twisted into something alarming, a pounding in his chest. The pain rushes through him and he is unable to stop it at all. 

The arrow forced him to let go. And then left injuries beyond repair at the same time. Or it's the monster -the giant dragon- whom sliced his skin with its claws. Princes don't get killed while rescuing the princess. Although there is no one with royal blood in this story, no one to pull through the ruins of an old castle. Only him, and that awful sound which can't stop. That could happen though, but he would die. And having a bad rhythm is before than complete silence. 

There is someone whom is holding his hand. Not lacing their fingers together nor being kind. The gesture is harsh, almost crushing. He wonders, childishly, if the pain will resonate thorough his body as his bones would break one after another. The touch is all he has. Most people do not know, he guesses. Or they stopped to care a long time ago. There used to be more voices. One, broken and low, whispering excuses he couldn't accept or deny. Another, which got high-pitched toward the end of he sentences, belonging to a person who wasn't here for him in the first place. A kid with an injury who sat on his bed and talked too much. He doesn't think it's right, to be used as some kind of grave for each bad thought this person has. Yet, words are something. Silence is a defeat. It's creepy, frightening. The world has to be loud and voices need to be heard. It's why having his hand squeezed too tightly is acceptable. There is a voice coming from this one too. Although it's different.

_I am not here for you._

Not your average greeting. Yet, it works each time. At first, perhaps it's even the truth. The other is here for the boy who can't stop talking. Not that this one is bad news either. Anything which will drown the 'one, two' rhythm is welcome.

_When are you going to wake up? Is it worth it?_

Worth. This word if one of the other's favourites. He is able to sense it. After all, he repeats it too much. Some days, the sleeping boy recalls that if this man is holding his hand, it's probably because he does not feel the other any longer. If he only has one, there is half less chance for people to grab it, isn't it how it works? Painful, that's how it is when the thoughts drag him down and the sound get erratic. Yet, after a few times, the stranger stops letting go of him when it happens. Instead, he refuses to leave, even when the doctors and nurses start shouting. They are loud and still not enough. One two. Remember to remain alive. What is his name already? Why does he always lose it?

_I got two drivers from Yggdrasil. One if for you, Hase. If you deserve it. I think you do._

The verb you are looking for is not get but stolen, he wants to correct him. Although it's impossible as he is not conscious. Why would this guy gets into trouble over a driver anyway? There is a story he is missing. One which is not worth remembering. So he does not. Hase. It's his name. He can do with that. No more memories damaging and making him wish to sleep until the end of time. It's foolish, as he does not have any chance to witness it. Or perhaps he does, considering what is happening, the things the man are vomiting while he wraps his hands around his own. Singular, Hase. If he wakes up one day, he will not recall the truth, right? Everything will vanish and allow him to find his life back?

What a sick joke. He wants to cry.  
It does not work, obviously.

_People are waiting for you. Hurry up and get better. You are wasting my time._

One, two, three and four.  
One day, the man is not here. It could have been one day or one month since his last visit, he cannot tell. His mother sends him voice messages. A lot of them. Someone, probably a nurse, presses a button and he is allowed to hear them sometimes. Although it sounds metallic and far away. She has a lot of work. To pay for the hospital maybe. Not that he thinks about that. The other should be back already. 

The next time there is a visit, beyond the hospital staff, the bed makes this awful sound, it cringes, which reminds him there is a world beyond the machine which is linked to him until he is able to wake up. The boy. The only one who has no sense of the rules. Although there is someone else who is that way, a person which repeats his name over and over, moving around the bed and being louder than he should be before leaving in a hurry. However, this one only accepts to open his heart a couple of times. He is not as familiar as the man whom holds his hand or the kid. It's my last check-up for my arm, he whispers as if it was some kind of secret. And yet, the next one is worst than losing a visitor. 

_He is in the room next to yours, you know... Got injured badly. In fact, many of the others are--_

Not fair, the voice keeps mumbling. Unfair to all of them. Children on hospital beds, dragged in a war which started only when his own life was already almost over. Are those his own words or the kid's ones? He does not know nor notice when the boy is gone. This one will probably not be worth remembering any longer. They all used to have names and smiles and now the doctors use numbers and injuries to refer to them. 

One, two, three and four. Five, six.  
They try to wake him up from time to time. Artificial coma they call it. Although, it does not work apparently. Sometimes, he wishes he could raise his hand (which one is left already?) and make an obscene gesture at them for not letting him sleep. Still they try, once in a while. A while probably means a lot. Enough for the man to be back. His touch is less rough after that, although he is still offering him meaningless advice. Perhaps he should feel grateful. Yet, it's a sign things are changing. Have changed a lot. If he was to be back, would he be able to understand their world again?

_There is no appropriate ending for you. Still, you ought to wake up and fight. Or else you won't have any chance._

The tone becomes urging, pressing him to act. His body is not healed enough yet. Fingers are clenched around his and it's everything he has left. Everything the other has too. Why else would he visit someone who is unable to answer to his doubts? There is no miracle. He does not open his eyes out of all sudden upon hearing promises of a place by the man's side. 

_Do not sleep for too long, Hase._

Then, he leaves. 

In this never ending story, Hase recalls he was Ryouji. And that Ryouji had two hands, friends and a driver. He was the first and only one who had managed to stand a chance against their greatest enemy, the white rider. And it's this man who saved him, by using his bow. There was no dragon. The monster had been defeated before he approached. He could have become one too. Instead, he sleeps. His mother ends up leaving messages because she can't bear to see him this way. Jonouchi keeps coming and running away a few minutes later for a similar reason. The boy from Baron probably has a name, but he has never made the effort to learn it. He is the one who sat on his bed. Got his arm almost fractured the same day as his incident. And the one who keeps holding his hand each time he gets lost is--

One, two, three and four. Five, six, seven and eight.  
Seven months and twelfth days. The ceiling is ugly and breathing is a fight. People are holding him down and everything is blurry for a while. Until he closes his eyes again. It happens a couple of times, until his body is able to remain awake enough for him to listen. There is so much white. In his dreams, there were many colours. Yellow against red. At least, he is alive. There are no bandage, as everything is healed, time having done its job. He has two hands, unlike what he thought. One is simply unable to function properly. Ah, it's as having one, he tells the doctor. Of course, he is scared, terrified even. Such a long time has gone by. 

His parents, whom used to be a distant memory, kind voices which seemed to be far away, crush him with their arms until they squeeze all the tears out of his body. Jonouchi does not come. And Kouta, Kouta who was begging for forgiveness when he got hurt, has no time. Saving the world or ruining himself. He is probably doing both at the same time. Hase has no intention to focus on that. There is a driver next to his bed though. Not his own. Only a blank face plate and a lockseed next to it. Pinecone. Isn't it what he wished for more than anything? No, the driver in itself is not everything. The fear in his head, that's what he needed to chase away. 

It takes him two weeks before he is able to get up and grab it by himself. He refuses to touch it before that.

There is no name with the present (weapon). Yet, he knows who offered him a chance. He has never been the clever one, or the person who was able to get things right. Still, it's evident. Perhaps it's wrong, to have so much hope in one present. At least, he is able to believe in something. That's why, when the door opens one morning, the one where is pressing the buttons of his lockseed to focus onto something now that's the machine is gone, he knows upon lifting his head that it'll be fine. 

“Yo...”

“Hase.”

The other is tense, and appears to be exhausted when he sits next to his bed, as he used to. What could he tell him, except it's fine. That he is alive. Most of them are (he does not ask about the others). Grinning is too difficult, and yet Hase forces himself, for the sake of everything, and he extends his hand toward the other.

“Thanks.” There is some shock painted on the other's face. Certainly created by the fact he remembers what has happened while he was in this state. Instead of running away, Kaito frowns, the usual expression which makes him appear tougher than he probably is.

“Thanks a lot, Kaito.” No family name. Aren't they close, in an odd way? He wants to punch him in the face for a couple of things but it can wait. Right now, Kumon's chair is suddenly closer to the bed and his hand manages to grab him by his collar.

“Am I still wasting your time, you damn ass?” And Ryouji is convinced the smile he couldn't show properly until then is now perfectly reflecting on his face. The smirk he gets in return before Kaito crushes his lips with his own is nice too. 

"Perhaps not."

One, two, three and four. Five, six, seven and eight.  
He will be on stage again. And he has a new ally.  
Being alive is good enough for now.


End file.
